Poems from the earth that was
by Daria234
Summary: Humor ficlet. Inara and Mal discuss the merits of poetry. Mal/Inara unrequited relationship, with appearance by not!a!brilliant!poet!Jayne. Humorfic with a little emotion too.


"Poetry is the refined and controlled expression of the turbulent chaos of the heart, Mal," Inara said, annoyed that he would mock her bookshelf full of poetry.

"No wonder it's so boring," he said with a grin.

She rolled her eyes. "It might do you some good, Mal, to read some of these books; I'd be happy to loan them to you. Though, of course, given your reputation, I'll need collateral," she said with a smile.

"Now what makes you think I haven't read them already? For all you know, I'm a regular poetry expert."

"Really. Tell me, how many poems do you know?"

"Um... Let's see... There once was a lady named Inara," Mal said and grinned at her, expecting her to scowl at him or perhaps throw something in annoyance. Instead, she just looked at him, one eyebrow raised, waiting expectantly for the rest of Mal's 'poem.'

"Umm...." he said, grabbing desperately into mind and finding it surprisingly empty, "There was was a lady named Inara ... Who went travelling very far-a, .... Um....Yeah, that's how the poem ends, looks like."

Jayne thankfully came in then with some complaint about River or possibly Simon, and Mal was grateful for the distraction. It looked like he might just get out of this conversation with some shred of dignity.

But Inara decided to put on her sweet smile and ask Jayne, "Tell me, Jayne, if you had to make up a poem about someone in this room, what would you say? How long would it take you to think of something?"

Jayne looked like he thought that was the stupidest question he'd ever heard. But he was being - for some jackassy reason - cooperative that day, and he came up with,

"There once was a ship's captain whose name was Mal.  
He was pretty tough though he had the name of a gal.  
His crew was mighty,  
Though not always tidy,  
But their services were always for sale."

Mal gaped as Inara smiled and clapped in surprise. "Not the most elegant, but more than anyone would have expected on such short notice," she said, tactfully leaving off the ending phrase of 'from you anyway.'

Jayne just looked at them both with exasperation, mumbled, "Seriously, that Tam girl is trouble," and walked out.

Inara smirked at Mal and said, "It's official. Jayne is a better poet than you. Jayne is SMARTER at something than you are. Shall I get you a handkerchief in case you need to weep?"

He narrowed his eyes. He couldn't believe it had come to this. He really, really didn't want to act like one of those snooty, stick-up-the-ass clients who thought their learning made them more than a man. But Inara was being insufferable. He had no choice.

He recited, never taking his eyes off of hers:

"In fragrant mist, her flowing hair is damp;  
In clear moonlight, her jade-like arms are cold.  
When will we lean together in the open sky  
while the moonlight dries our shining tears?"

She stared at him with suspicion almost clouding her appreciation. "You know the ancient poets, Mal?"

He smiled and said, "Just enough to appeal to easily impressed women."

He laughed as he ran out of her shuttle, barely dodging the book she threw. He was pleased with himself, that he got a rise out of her finally, and he said to himself with a smile, 'That was satisfying.'

Though, he had to admit, when entering her shuttle, he had promised himself that he repeat the same performance again, that he wouldn't smirk and mock and do all those things that made her keep him at arm's length. He kept telling himself he would stop turning their ... whatever it was they had... into a joke.

But somehow, in the moment, that's what he always did. So maybe satisfying wasn't really the right word.

And in the back of his mind, he wondered if she noticed that in the poem he recited, the poet was talking about his wife.

=======***********+++++++++++**************++++++++++++**********+++++++++++*************============  
Author's notes: The last poem is an excerpt from Du Fu, translated by Lunde, with character-appropriate 'corruptions' in the text...

Written for the livejournal community comment_fic. Prompt was Mal/Inara, how many poems do you know?


End file.
